


Rubbish – Ridiculous – Reasonable

by Ymas



Series: Rubbish - Ridiculous - Reasonable [1]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymas/pseuds/Ymas
Summary: The amount of enjoyment Jeremy and Richard get out of perusing the boxes full of things fans have given them is nothing, simply nothing, compared to the amount of enjoyment James gets out of watching them do it.A Picture Paints A Thousand (and seven hundred) Words.





	Rubbish – Ridiculous – Reasonable

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And then, and now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/249188) by [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana). 



> One day [delighted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted) (once again it's all her fault, of course, but I couldn't be more grateful :-)) sent me a pic and asked _What's this about, then?_  
>  I had no idea. And I couldn't really find anything about it, either. So I had to make something up.
> 
> No wives, no kids.
> 
> Even though it might not be very obvious, parts of this were definitely inspired by Marginaliana's wonderful 'And then, And now'. Please go read it. It's fantastic.

James leans back in the chair, glass of perfectly chilled white in his hand, ready to enjoy the show.  
  
It's always like this, after every TopGear Live.  
Fans give them stuff - letters, little tokens, cuddly toys, bras, worn slips.  
Some of it ends up on the stage, but most is confiscated pre-show and, as per Jeremy and Richard's request, packed into boxes and left in the presenters' room for them to dig through afterwards.  
  
They have just, and very successfully James might add, completed the show in Warsaw.  
And Bloody Norah, the Polish fans are bonkers.  
Also, there's a crazy lot of them. 58'000 today. Their biggest audience to date.  
Hence the boxes. Plural.  
  
The amount of enjoyment Jeremy and Richard get out of perusing them, though, is nothing, simply _nothing_ compared to the amount of enjoyment James gets out of watching them do it.  
Each and every time.  
  
Richard, still high on adrenaline and already a bit drunk on G&T, has half disappeared into one of them, cackling like a madman and loudly comparing his loot to Jeremy's, who's all over the second.  
  
It's their after-show wind-down tradition. Some cocking about and talking bollocks just for the three of them. No audience, no pressure, just them being, well, _them_.  
  
Things fly through the air left and right and it's one of James' favourite things in the world, just sitting here, watching, before sending them into hysterics with a well-timed quip or a clever line delivered dry as sawdust.  
  
Jeremy is one of the most gratifying recipients for these perfectly timed little bombshells in (as he would say) the woooorld, laughing uproariously and with abandon, appreciating a funny line never more than when it's unexpected or he himself is the butt of the joke.  
And that is pure Jeremy. He gives, alright.  
But oooh, does he know how to take. And graciously. From friends, at least.  
  
Richard is different. Oh yes, he likes it too when James is like this and doesn't James know it. But contrary to Jeremy, who laughs and laughs, Richard plays off it. Mock bristles. Tries to get one up on James.  
  
  
Which sometimes leads to the most delicious sparring events, which in turn have Jeremy positively roaring with laughter and which, again, makes it all even better. Impossibly, infinitely better.  
Or he and Richard gang up on Jeremy, which is also _so_ good, as more often than not it morphs into a full-blown three-way banter session which, well. Is pretty much what James lives for.  
  
Today, Richard refuses to be fully distracted but he's obviously multi-tasking, sniggering into his box at all the right places. But even if it were just Jeremy for an audience, it would be more than enough for James.  
  
A pair of underpants is thrown right in his face and "Eeeeew, Richard".  
  
Richard emerges from his box long enough to give him an innocent look. "What? They are clearly meant for you!"  
  
James holds them up, studying the 'Permission to Say Cock'-print flaunted all over the buttock section and the 'Oh, Cock' displayed down the front. They seem clean enough. He shrugs, folds them and puts them into his pocket. They quite obviously _are_ for him, after all.  
  
He counters Jeremy's lewd grin with an unimpressed look.  
  
And yes, they may have ended up in a mad heap of insanity in the same bed a couple of times lately.  
  
Which has led to James discovering some frankly stunning things.  
  
How much Jeremy loves giving head, for example. Or how much he wants, or rather needs, to be held afterwards. And cuddled and petted and taken care of, although he would never ask and would kill them if they'd ever mention it.  
  
Or that Richard turns into an incoherent, quivering mess under either Jeremy's mouth or James' hands. That he likes it when they make him beg. That he loves to fuck James.  
  
That James loves to be fucked.  
  
They sleep together, really sleep together, in the same bed, sharing covers and pillows and space. And, unexpectedly, James loves that, too.  
  
And then they kiss each other good morning, get up, and act as if it had never happened.  
  
James has known he's gay ever since his earliest teenage years, he's just never quite managed to come out.  
He's always known Jeremy isn't entirely straight, not with all the innuendo, all the ambiguous lines he's got going.  
  
He was never quite sure about Richard, still isn't, which made it all the better, all the more unexpected, when he reacted the way he did to James running a hand down his back. An absent-minded, unplanned, unprompted, entirely unintentional gesture, which had James freeze up in horror at his blunder.  
But Richard, amazingly, had leaned into the touch before turning around and kissing him straight on the mouth, tongue and teeth and everything.  
And Jeremy had looked on from his perch on the barstool at the kitchen counter, looked on in stunned, turned-on silence before he'd said "bugger it all", took off his reading glasses, hopped down and joined in enthusiastically.  
  
James still isn't sure how much it is about the thrill, for Richard.  
About his constant need for touch and attention.  
And how much, or little of it, is born from genuine affection and real, lasting want.  
  
But he isn't picky, James. He'll take what he can get, for as long as it lasts. It's already more than he could have ever dreamed of.  
  
Jeremy has finished sorting through his box, three piles of 'rubbish', 'ridiculous' and 'reasonable' surrounding him.  
He gathers his 'rubbish' pile and dumps it into Richard's box, which of course fuels a whole new round of piss-taking and hilarity.  
  
James laughs along, sipping his wine, then gets up to grab a stuffed Husky dog from the 'reasonable' pile.  
Which is when something in the 'ridiculous' pile catches his eye. A small wooden box, in no way remarkable or exceptional. But there it is, somehow speaking to him, somehow beckoning him, and he bends down to pick it up, takes it and the dog back to his chair.  
  
It's three rings, coppery material polished shiny and smooth, a pattern, intricate but inconspicuous, beautiful in delicate black lines, brought out to perfection.  
  
James takes one out, runs his finger over the surface, turning it around and around in his hand.  
  
Wonders where it came from.  
  
"That's actually rather nice, mate", Richard says from next to him and James startles, hasn't noticed him coming up.  
He offers it up and Richard slips it on his index finger, admiring it from all angles.  
  
And then Jeremy is there, too, taking one out of the box for himself and trying it on his own fingers. It just about fits over his pinkie.  
"It's for tiny, delicate little Hamster paws", he complains. "I mean, whoever sent them, have they even _seen_ me?"  
  
James takes the third ring out and tries to wiggle it on his ring finger, but it won't fit and he ends up slipping it on his pinkie, too.  
They all three hold up their hands, admiring the masterful handiwork.  
  
"Picture", Jeremy declares, whipping out his phone.  
  
"Why?" James asks.  
  
"Because", Jeremy says, helpful as ever.  
  
A member of the catering staff picks that exact moment to bring in a tray of food and gets immediately roped into playing photographer for an impromptu photo shoot of beringed, slightly inebriated TopGear presenters.  
  
James is a little bit reluctant. Yes, it feels just that tiniest bit too close for comfort to his heart's most profound desire.  
  
But he's game as always, succumbs to their addictive playfulness, adopts his best 'I-am-just-here-because-they-made-me-so-please-watch-me-not-giving-a-toss'-face and lets it happen.  
  
Jeremy and Richard dive right back into their boxes after that, wild and loud as ever, and James slips the ring off his finger and into his pocket unnoticed.  
  
That night, he fixes it to his keyring.

* * *

  
  
  
It's weeks later that Jeremy gets caught up in a heated discussion with fans at a petrol station and James, fed up with waiting, unceremoniously fishes Jeremy's wallet out of his coat pocket and goes to fill up the Fezza himself.  
  
He searches for coins to pay for an extra package of Hula Hoops and, instead of a one pound piece, comes out the ring.  
He stares at it in utter bewilderment, thinking he got mixed up, maybe, and it's his, but his is on the key ring still, and this came out of Jeremy's wallet and then the attendant clears his throat loudly and he realises that he's backing up the queue.  
  
He does find a pound, eventually, in his own wallet, and hands it over, then takes a step to the side and tucks the ring carefully back into its compartment in Jeremy's.  
  
He doesn't mention it.  
  
But the next time they go to Hammersmith after work, James pretends to search for something in the car's glove box and hands his keys over to Jeremy, telling him to go ahead.  
  
Jeremy unlocks the door.  
And hands back the keys with the most adorable soppy smile James has ever seen on him.

* * *

  
  
  
It's another couple of weeks later and they are in the middle of studio filming, in the middle of the News, and Richard is doing that annoying fiddly thing with one of his rings again.  
And James almost tells him off.  
Until, that is, he notices what ring he is doing it with.  
  
He stares for a bit and thankfully it's not his part, because they are also in the middle of a Jeremy-rant.  
  
And then Richard looks up, and smiles, and deliberately takes the other hand away to reveal his right index finger.  
And James can tell the exact moment when Jeremy notices by the way he stumbles over his words, falters momentarily, before catching himself with an ad-lib and a jab at Richard's vanity.

* * *

  
  
  
One of the pictures eventually makes it online, of course.  
Jeremy might not be all that innocent.  
  
And somewhere in rural Poland, a local artist specialising in fine metalwork jumps up and down in front of her laptop and _squeals_.


End file.
